The Five Musts Of A Well-Ordered Detective's Life Un: A surveying of one's castle. Things to be arranged just so, bits of dust to be tapped away. Everything must be tout parfait for when one's friends or clients come to call. Not that Hastings notices, but perhaps it will rub off on him. Deux: A strengthening of the social ties. Not every reason to see someone must be murder! A friendly chat with Miss Lemon about her filing systems, for instance. "Oh it's going smashingly, Mr. Poirot. Just smashingly. I told you I was trying something new, that I read about in a lovely little mystery that takes place Greece, and I think it's going to smooth out the rough bits quite nicely," says Miss Lemon, surveying her own kingdom, her office. There is a new teacup on it, with a small delicate kitten painted on the saucer. Hastings had given it to her. Poirot had shuddered, looked away, but had to admit it made her very pleased. "Oui, bien sur," he says. "I think today I would like to review an old case, for the little reasons. It was about a Mr. Cunningham. I am afraid Poirot is not used to your new system yet, can you bring it to me?" Poirot holds his hands out wide and gives a sheepish smile, little mustaches rising with his lips. "Of course! It's right... oh, oh dear," says Miss Lemon staring in dismey at the first cabinet she opens. "I need a moment." "I will go wait in my offiece, hein?" says Poirot, beating a graceful retreat. A most commendable, sensible woman, Miss Lemon. But progress sometimes has its downsides. For lunch, Hastings and Mrs. Oliver both come. Poirot had only invited Mrs. Oliver, as the two got on in a way that was not conductive to the digestion. "Oh dash it," says Hastings. "I was meant to come next Tuesday. I won't be a bother, I'll catch the train back--" "Non! Non, Poirot insists you stay and eat your fill," says Poirot, because manners are an important part of the strengthening of the ties. "Oh, I'm sure he will," says Mrs. Oliver in her dry tones. She rests her chin in her hand and gives Hastings a little smile, while the captain puffs himself up. "I say," begins Hastings, "just because I didn't like your last book--" "You said it was unfair!" says Mrs. Oliver. "Unfair! I laid out every clue. Every single little clue." "How was anyone supposed to know the significance of July 1st to Canadians? Why would all Canadians be celebrating that! It was a ridiculous clue to reveal his true identity as a Bostonian and furthermore--" "Oh look, dinner, it is served," says Poirot quickly. Lunch discussion is diverted to talk of murder which is, somehow, more palatable. Trois: The refreshing of the memory. Yes, Poirot had a memory most excellent but it was not because he neglected it. Now that Miss Lemon, in all her efficiency, had sorted out the filing problems he was free to peruse the cases of his choice and relive former glories. And ah, they were all glorious, if he did say so himself. He went over some notes, fondly recalling Hastings' absolute pique at Poirot succeeding yet again. Hastings, dear Hastings, could never seem to choose whether he was in awe of Poirot or waiting for Poirot to get egg in the face. On the face? It did not matter. It was something Poirot enjoyed and made the basis of a very entertaining friendship. For it did not matter the outcome to Hastings, he would be be pleased in the end. But for his police friends such as Japp, it would be a crime unsolved, to Miss Lemon and George his valet, it would interfere with their pay. And for him, Poirot, it would be devastating. Well, and cher Madame Oliver would find use for it in one of her stories if she ever tired of letting her Finn win. He did not understand her claims it was ridiculous that her detective, he always succeeded. For did not Poirot always succeed? He made a note in the case in his hands. The client had been reluctant to accept Poirot's truth about the inheritance in a way that seemed similar in a way-- no, today was his day off. But, Poirot mused, he would be quite the imbecile if he did not follow this up! Quatre: The visiting of those in the know under the guise of innocent friendship. He no longer needed to advertise his great skill in the papers, for now his network of clients and associates did the work for him. He asked a few questions over a delicious repaste that teased the senses exquisitely. He would have to remember this restaurant, The Boxed Turtle, for while the name conjured one thing, the food served was quite another. "You know, you're right. I did hear about that old girl Honoria, dashed athletic she is, very brisk, having a similar sort of mix up with her old man's will. Seems he was dashed intent on getting her married," says the hon. Ronald Darlington. "Ah," says Poirot, "that is not something you can demand by law, non?" "Exactly. Got thrown right out, but then they didn't have anything at all to go on! Still tied up in court." "Oui, oui, that was alas the case in the will I also mentioned. I found it to be false, but that did not help the family in the end, for there was no true one to be found," says Poirot. "Most puzzling." "Well, I reckon it's just an incompetent lawyer bungling it all up." "Perhaps. Ah, they have creme de menthe. I shall have that to finish off, oui?" Cinq: Despite one's day off, one has come across a series of murders and must solve it. "How do you do it, Poirot?" says Hastings, gazing at the old well. "How did you know you would find this?" "Alas, mon cher Hastings, I only know that I wish I had realized much sooner how it all tied together. A passing thought is what reminded me, that was all. That was all," says Poirot, gazing as well. "Come. We can do nothing here. I think perhaps what I need right now is warm food and good friends, hein?" "Always glad to oblige, old chap."